A Real FixerUpper
by SophBraxt
Summary: Naomi has an uncommon occupation. She owns her own restoration company restoring beautiful old buildings and generally making old things new again. But she meets her match in one challenging project: Emily Fitch.
1. Naomi, Carter, and Cook

A/N: Hello, dear reader! You've stumbled upon my story! So thanks for that. I hope you enjoy this little introductory chapter with more on the way. If you like it, I'd love it if you'd leave me some feedback on your way out!

Happy New Year!

xxsb

I'm not sure how long the phone was ringing before I realized what the noise was and picked the damned thing up. I could say that this is a rare occurrence, but to do so would be to tell a lie. I do this often. I get engrossed and thus become unresponsive to all external stimuli. It might not be a bad idea to rig the phone to some neon lights. Maybe a bear horn.

"Hello? Er, Campbell Restorations?"

"Still not embracing the administrative side of the business, I see?"

"Fuck off, Cook. What's up?"

"Cool your jets. I found you some work, sugar lumps. A nice big project with all sorts of little headaches and pain-in-the-ass impossibilities. Just your type."

"Oh yeah? What've you got? And don't call me sugar lumps or—"

"Empty threats, dove. It's a theater. Bristol. Old, smelly, dirty. Your favorite."

"You really are the worst. But I'm in a decent mood, so give me the number and I'll pretend to forget what a dickhead you are."

"Already texted it to you."

"Oh. Thanks, then."

"Don't mention it, my radiant, glowing, magnifi—"

"Goodbye, Cook."

I hang up the phone and toss it back onto my desk before heading back over to my work. It's gotten dark sooner than I expected. I switch on the work lights and pick up my rag again when I hear faint footsteps behind me.

"Are you coming to tell me something?" I ask, turning around to find my dog, Carter, giving me the "you know what time it is" look.

"Right, right. It's time to feed the dog."

He barks his affirmation."

"Alright. You win. We'll call It a night."

I lock up the shed and walk with Carter back to the house. "You're terrible for business, you know. I'm never going to get those columns done at this rate."

xxxx

"Carter, would you get me the box?"

He cocks his head a bit and gives me a questioning look from his chair."

"You heard me. The box. It's in the mud room."

He makes a noise that I assume is the canine equivalent of "Harrrumph" and jumps off the armchair, bounding into the other room.

I'm hunched over the coffee table, with a dropcloth taped to its surface and another spread on the floor beneath it. Carter comes trotting back into the room with the leather handle of my box in his mouth. I take it from him and set it on the ground next to me.

"Good boy, Carter."

He barks and wags his tail.

"Alright." I give in quickly and open the box and grab a treat for him out of the top compartment. "Here you go. You've earned your keep." I toss the treat to him and he jumps back into his chair with it.

I root around in the box for a minute before wrapping my fingers around the handle of the tool I'm searching for.

I'm restoring an old wardrobe, currently. Picked it up from an acquaintance whose aunt had left him the house in her will when she died. It's gorgeous. 6 feet tall, chestnut, patterns on the doors and top. Excellent. At least, it was. And it will be again, soon. Right now I've got the crown of the piece on my coffee table. It's rather large and it's in rough shape. Someone attempted to restore it long ago and did so quite unsuccessfully. The aging finish has been painted over, and someone put a polyurethane seal on it. A big mistake, but nothing I can't fix. I did the last round of paint thinner on the paint and poly a few days ago and now I'm working on breaking down the stubborn bits of the original finish that are stuck in the crevices of the crown detailing.

I'm about to take the wood chisel to a particularly tough bit of sloppily applied finish when the phone rings again. Frustrated by the interruption, I drop the chisel back into the box and pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Me again, sweetums."

"Give it a rest, Cook."

"Alright. Someone's grumpy. Have you eaten today?"

"Yeah. 'Course. I ate some, er, well I had a bit of a sandwich."

"Right. And when was that?"

"Around nine."

"A.m.?"

"No, genius. 2 hours in the future. Yes, a.m."

"Jesus, Naomi. I've told you a thousand times, you've got to take a break from that work long enough to eat, at least."

"I know, it just slipped my mind."

"Right. Tell me you at least fed your dog."

"Of course. What kind of person do you think I am?"

"Just forgetful, Naoms. Just forgetful. Anyway. I'm going to go for take away and bring it to yours. Don't argue because I'm hanging up. Bye!"

He hangs up.

"Great. Excellent. Looks like we're getting company tonight, Carter."

xxxx

"'Evening, snookums." Cook grins and holds up a brown paper bag. "I come bearing meatball subs and cheeseburger soup." He steps through the door and into the house before depositing the bag into my arms and greeting carter with enthusiasm.

"How's my good buddy, huh? Keeping blondie in line?"

Carter barks his response.

"Excellent. No pooch better than you, Carty."

Cook follows me into the kitchen.

"Would you get the plates down?" I ask him.

"Plates? You're joking, right? Take away means no dishes. We eat it as is. Now go sit at the table while I grab the beer."

I shrug and take a seat as instructed.

"Did you call that theater yet?" He asks from inside the fridge.

"No. Not yet."

"Well what are waiting for? This place is perfect. And by perfect, I mean it's a disaster. Just like y—I mean, just your speed."

"Gee thanks, arseface. I'll be getting right on it, then." I can't deny myself an eyeroll as I open the beer Cook's set in front of me.

"You know what I mean."

"I know that you're a git with an atrocious attitude and an even worse personality."

"Ouch. Cut me deep there, Naoms. You know I just want good things for you. And being a pain in your arse is the best way I know to give you a nudge in the right direction."

"Christ, Cook. Way to get serious before we're even a few sips in. But I know. And you know that even though I think you're a git, I know there's a decent human being in there somewhere."

"Not likely," he grins. "But thanks anyway."

"New topic, why were you in Bristol in the first place?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Just visiting. Gloucester gets boring as shit, you know that."

"Right. Visiting anyone in particular?"

He smirks, "Maybe. Kind of. A bit. I dunno." He seems to be blushing a bit.

Cook is like family. To see him get flushed and goofy about a girl is obviously amusing.

"Well, spit it out. Who is she?"

He sits back and takes a long sip of his drink. "Her name is Katie. I went to school with her. Ages before I knew you. I was a real shit back then. I'm surprised she'll even speak to me. It's been ages since I'd seen her and then about a month ago I bumped into her at a mutual friend's get-together." He sighs and scratches the back of his head roughly. "And, well, I've gone back a few times since to meet up with her for coffee and such."

"I see. That's great, Cook."

"Anyway," he presses on, looking nervous, "she's just inherited this big theater from some rich Fitch uncle." He notices my questioning look. "Their name is Fitch. They as in Katie and her sister. They own the place. Christ, that was a mess of an explanation." He's rambling. "Katie and her sister own the theater and it's a mess and that's where we—I mean, you—come in. Because you're great and it will look good and I'll—"

"Got it. Take a breath, Cook." I take a drink and a moment to think. "So you want me to swoop in and impress your girlfriend for you?"

"Potential girlfriend. If I'm lucky. I was kind of hoping you might let me help."

"Are you mad? _You_ help _me_? A _theater_? In _Bristol_?"

"Come on, Naoms. It's got potential to be a beautiful place. And it's big. You're going to need the extra hands. And I'm not totally worthless, you know!"

He looks desperate. I can tell this means a lot to him. I think the fact that he wants me to impress his girlfriend _for _him is shit but mostly amusing.

"Alright. I'll think about it."

He breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I love you, Naomi. Seriously, you are the fucking tip-top."

"Yeah, I know. Now are we going to eat this food or watch it get cold?"


	2. Naomi & Bristol

A/N: Hello there. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy this. The first chapter wasn't too terribly interesting. Sorry about that. Hopefully this is a bit more interesting. I hope you like it.

You know the drill: Feedback feeds the hungry fan fiction writing beast.

Thanks for reading!

xxsb

"You're not wearing that are you?" Cook asks with a mouth full of apple. It's early. 7 a.m. according to my watch, and we're getting ready to leave. Cook took the liberty of setting up a meeting with these theatre owners himself. We're expected in Bristol in two hours. Sure, it takes just under an hour to get there, but Cook is nervous about traffic or getting lost or something along those lines. So, we're leaving early.

"Yes," I say, answering his question. "I'm wearing this. We're fixing up a theatre, not having lunch with the Queen. Would you calm down?" I pour the rest of the pot of coffee into my travel mug and screw the lid on tight. "Let's not forget that she's your girlfriend, not mine."

Cook groans, "How many times do I have to correct you? Potential girlfriend. And you know, it wouldn't kill you to put in some effort once and awhile."

I shoot him a look that tells him he has said a very wrong thing.

He backpedals quickly, "I just mean that it's been months—"

Knowing exactly where he's going with this, I stop him in his tracks. "Shut up, Cook."

He sighs and massages the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Naomikins, what I'm trying to say is that you're fucking hot!" He sees the look on my face. "Let me finish. You're hot and you don't have to be lonely and broody and covered with sawdust and grease all of the time." He senses I'm about to argue with him. "Seriously, let me finish. You deserve someone who makes you happy. And its just that you're never going to meet someone who is good for you in old jeans and a giant flannel shirt that's got holes in it. "

I open my mouth to issue Cook a verbal bitch slap, but I close it again when I realize that this is, in fact, my holey shirt. It's not as if I usually dress up or anything, but even I can do a bit better than a torn up shirt for a first meeting. As much as it pains me to acknowledge it, Cook's right. Rolling my eyes like a petulant teenager, I climb up the stairs toward my bedroom. "Fine. You win. Not sure who the hell you think I'm trying to impress, but fuck it. Try not being a tosser when I get back, yeah?"

"You never know who you might run into, that's all!" He shouts up the stairs after me.

Several minutes later, I emerge from my room and head back down the stairs in a slightly less shabby pair of jeans and the nicest jacket I own. And even it isn't that nice, regrettably. "This meet with your approval, Cook?" I ask snarkily.

He beams, "You look excellent. Now let's get on with it, yeah?"

He slips his coat on, pats Carter's head one last time, and heads out the door to my car. Though he drove over to my house this morning, his truck doesn't exactly make for a comfortable ride. I grab my coat and scratch Carter behind the ears, "Be back later tonight, buddy." He barks his farewell as I shut the door and make my way to the driver's side of my Subaru.

"Naomikins," Cook is leaning against the passenger side door finishing his cigarette. "Can we pop by that coffee place on the way out of town?"

I smirk at him as we climb into our respective sides. "Like that's even a real question."

Xxx

One hour and 2 cups of coffee later, we're pulling into one of the five parking spaces behind the theatre. Cook dials Katie's number on his phone.

"Katie fucking Fitch," he laughs in his distinctly Cook manner. "How the hell are you?" I can't hear Katie's response. "Right, right. I'm excellent. In fact, we're outside your lovely establishment. In the back." She says something else I can't hear. "Cool. We'll be right here." He hangs up the phone.

"You're blushing," I point out, crossing my arms over my chest and smirking.

"Fuck off. Cook don't blush, alright?" He shakes his head, but his smile tells me he's not seriously perturbed. "Just try not to embarrass me, yeah?"

"No guarantees. You know better than that."

The door opens and a small girl with dark brown hair emerges. "Cook! You fucking bastard! It's good to see you!" The girl throws her arms around Cook.

"You too, Katiekins." He pulls back from the hug, grinning ear to ear. "This is my best friend in the whole world and the woman willing to work her magic all over this place: Naomi Campbell."

Katie smiles and sticks her hand out. I shake it, but I don't miss her eyes traveling up and down to talk in what I was wearing. I suddenly wish that I had some nicer clothes.

"It's nice to meet you," I say. "This is a beautiful building."

Katie lets out a short laugh. "You should see the inside, babes. Place is a damned wreck. I'm glad you were willing to come down and at least take a look, though."

I nod and try to hide a look of apprehension. I'm hoping that Cook knows that I'm a not miracle worker. Restorations cost money. Lots of money. And owners don't like to hear that. I really don't want to be the bad guy here.

Katie addresses us both, "Well, let's head inside, yeah?"

She turns on her heel and heads back into the theatre. We travel down a hallway and take a right. Katie turns the knob on the door and tries to open it, but it doesn't seem eager to cooperate. She curses, then kicks it. It springs open, and we walk through. It's one of the stage doors and it spits us out stage left, behind a curtain that's only half-hung.

I take a few steps onto the stage and take in the sight before me. Katie was absolutely correct. Inside, the damned place is a wreck. The chairs are torn and most are missing their seats. Said seats are piled in a corner, along with what look to be a fair number of the original light fixtures. I think it's safe to assume that they're all broken. The wood of the stage groans and whines in protest as we walk across it. I take a deep breath and try to imagine this place restored. It could be beautiful, there's no doubt. Real wood seats, amazing room, well-designed stage. It has all of the makings of a fine theatre. I look up.

It's not over. The tresses are a mess, some the cables are frayed, most of the lights look like they're busted, and the ropes aren't even intact in some places. I chance another look at the seats. The balcony looks reasonably intact. Of course, everything will have to be re-upholstered. Most of it will need to be rebuilt. Not impossible, just a hell of a lot of work. But it's manageable.

Then the walls catch my eye. They were clearly breathtaking at one time. Painstakingly decorated, but the paneling is broken and the wallpaper that is haphazardly tacked over top of another restoration attempt is peeling. I don't particularly want to look at the ceiling. But I do.

It's huge. The ceiling is vaulted and is nearly indistinguishable from the wall as it rises, then gives way to a dome in the center. The dome is gold leaf and textured, beautifully painted plaster. A large but tasteful chandelier hangs from the middle of the dome.

Fucking hell this is going to be a lot of work. A lot of work that I'm not sure I have time for. Bristol's a good hour drive each way. I can't be making that drive everyday for the foreseeable future to work on this theatre. I can't do that to Carter, and I certainly can't afford the petrol.

I'm about to tell Katie as much when she gives me a hopeful look. "Shall we take a look at the rest of the place?"

I don't want to be rude, so I just nod. No harm in seeing the rest. It's not as if I'm taking on the project, right?

We move over to stage right and take the six or so stairs down to the main floor. Carpet's in rough shape, too, I notice. I advert my eyes. This whole place screams "love me, fix me, make me pretty". It's a little awkward.

About halfway up the center aisle on our way to the back exit into the lobby, we're stopped by a bit of loud and colorful cursing.

"Buggery shit wank. Fucking arsehole!" The string of expletives is followed by a the sharp sound of something being kicked.

It's a man's voice and it's coming from up on the balcony. Katie back-tracks a bit and looks up. "JJ? What's up?"

Before JJ can answer, Cook's followed Katie and shouts up to JJ himself. "Jay? No shit, how the fuck have you been?"

A man leans over the edge of the balcony, putting more faith in the brass railing than I would've. He looks down for a moment, puzzled. Then, his eyes widen in surprise and a grin spreads across his face. "Cook!" He looks ready to jump right over the railing. Over-excited and not sure what to do, he shifts around a bit and then says "One second" before darting back the way he came. I can hear his footsteps thundering down a nearby stairwell (a sign that the walls need to be inspected and patched as well). Moments later, JJ comes bursting through a side door into the main theatre. He comes to a half right in front of Cook and wastes no time in engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug. "You didn't tell me you were coming into town!"

Cook returns his hug and laughs, "Jay, last I heard you were in Ireland with a girl, doing something with pottery." He pulls back and gives JJ a questioning look.

JJ smirks and rubs the back of his neck nervously, "Yeah, that didn't really work out, strictly speaking. But, I'm here now and I'm helping Katie and Emily with this place! It's a real shithole right now, but we're going to fix it up, right?" He smiles nervously for a moment before he realizes what he's said. "Sorry, Katie. I mean—this place is excellent! It won't take much work! In fact, we'll have it done in no time I'm sure. It just looks much worse than it is!" His back-peddling is largely ineffective.

Katie rolls her eyes in response, but has a small, fond sort of smile on her face. "Relax, Jay, we know the place looks like hundred year-old shit warmed over."

JJ nods. "Well. Good then!"

Cook throws an arm over my shoulder, "Jay, this is Naomi Campbell: The reason I'm not serving back to back life in the slammer. Naomi, this is JJ, one of my best mates from college."

I stick my hand out and JJ shakes it. "Pleased to meet you, Naomi." He bows and kisses my hand. Cheesy, but it's worth a laugh.

"Nice to meet you too, JJ."

When he releases my hand, Katie continues the trek up the aisle and motions for us to follow her. We push through a pair of beautiful-but-dilapidated oak doors. Hand-carved and very detailed, but full of chips and tiny cracks. On the other side of the doors is the lobby. It's just as would-be gorgeous as the main theatre. There's a big staircase in the middle of the lobby that leads to the balcony landing. There's a high tin ceiling and massive pillars line the perimeter of the room. The carpet is threadbare and the paint on the walls is peeling. A partial second floor that leads to the balcony doors winds all the way around the lobby, giving way to several other hallways and doors on either side. The railing on the second floor is in relatively good shape structurally, but it's hideous. Real wood that's been painted white as a "quick fix". Someone made a poor decision on the polyurethane to boot and the railing looks—

My thoughts are interrupted when Katie steps into the center of the room, cups her hands around her mouth and bellows, "Emily!"

I turn my attention back to the front of the lobby. The tiles look terrible, the curtains hung near the bar are tattered and torn. I turn to Cook, who is standing right next to me. "I can't do this, Cookie. I'm sorry. It's huge. Practically impossible for the two of us. And it's a good hour commute each way every day." I look at his face to gauge his reaction. He looks disappointed but understanding.

"I get it, Naomikins. It's a shame though, isn't it? It would be fun."

I nod and start to apologize when shouting cuts me off.

"Katie, I don't understand why you can't just come upstairs when you have something to say!" The voice has a raspy quality about it, but it clearly belongs to a girl. It gets quieter as it approaches, though. It's owner is still out of sight somewhere on the second floor. "With the way you shout, there won't be anything left of this theatre to re-open. You'll bring the damned walls crashing down all on your own." A head full of bright red, wavy hair appears, followed by a small body. This girl (Emily, presumably) has her back turned to us. She appears to be carrying something heavy. She starts down the stairs backwards and another girl comes into view.

"Holy flying ferrets, its Cook!" The girl's face lights up and breaks into the widest grin I've ever seen. She nearly drops the large black object that she and the other girl are carrying. "Whizzer! What the leaping Loris are you doing here?"

"Panda pops!" Cook laughs, "I'm here to help!"

The girl I assume is Emily groans, "Panda, heavy speaker, remember?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, Em," Panda hoists the speaker up again and takes on more of the weight as Emily tries to navigate the stairs backwards. When they reach the bottom, they set the massive speaker on the ground. Emily turns around, and I do my best to hide my surprise as Cook greats her boisterously. She looks like Katie. Well, sort of. They're clearly twins, but Emily looks a bit different. A bit more delicate, somehow. She has a smile on her face and dimples in her cheeks, soft brown eyes, and a small nose that's wrinkled a bit, courtesy of said smile.

"Naomi!" I'm pulled from my thoughts when I hear my voice come out of Cook's mouth. "Naomi, this is Emily," Cook puts his arm around the redheaded girl's shoulders and gives her a noogie, which she struggles to escape from.

"Cook, you fucking prick, knock it off!" She finally manages to break free, straightening up and smoothing her hair self-consciously. Taking a step forward, she offers me a smile and her hand. "Hi. I'm Emily. And I'm sorry you've had to carry the burden that comes with being a friend of Cook's."

I smile in return and take her hand. "Naomi. It's nice to meet you. As for Cook, I see it as community service, yeah? He's like my cross to bear or something." The group laughs, including Emily. I do my best to play it cool when I realize that I've had my hand in hers for a bit longer than your average handshake and withdraw it gently.

Cook feigns amusement. "Very funny, Naomi. You're such a treat." He rolls his eyes. "At any rate this is our Panda." He introduces the blond girl.

"Short for Pandora! But everyone calls me Panda, so you can too! Whizzo!" Panda is nearly jumping up and down from excitement.

I grin, because her energy is a little infectious. "Hi Panda. It's nice to meet you."

"Ace! Oh, can Naomi come with us to Keith's?"

Katie snorts, "Panda, it's 10 a.m."

"I know, I mean later! Lunch time!"

Emily interjects, laughing at her friend, "Cook and Naomi are welcome to come to Keith's if they'd like to. " I find myself smiling at the sound of Cook's old friends laughing.

Cook looks disappointed. "We'd love to, but we really ought to head back—"

Katie cuts in, "What? But you haven't even seen the rest of the theatre?" She looks confused.

Cook looks down at his feet awkwardly, "About that, Katiekins, it's a beautiful place and everything but—"

This time it's me who cuts him off, "We're really excited to get started on it! So let's see the rest!"

Cook looks at me, perplexed. Without a word, I make a subtle gesture in Emily's direction with my head. Luckily, she isn't paying any attention. JJ has taken Panda's place and he and Emily are carrying the speaker through the door of what looks like a storage closet.

Call me a masochist, but even if it means I'll be working my ass off, I'm not one to pass up an opportunity to get a little closer to a beautiful girl. It's stupid, really. For all I know, she's straight, totally unavailable, and maybe even a jerk upon second impression. Even so, this theatre will be fun. Challenging, back-breaking, and probably relatively dangerous. But fun all the same.

His eyes widen and he makes an odd "Score!" gesture with his entire body. Katie, however, looks back and forth between us suspiciously. She doesn't seem to have missed a thing.


End file.
